


heliophilia

by gracequills



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Tangled (2010) Fusion, Angst, Blood and Injury, Brothers, Canon-Typical Violence, Curses, Emotional Manipulation, Friendship, Gaslighting, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Tangled (2010), Magic, also inspired by rebel of the sands, dream thinks tommy is his brother, kind of?, no beta we die like Mexican dream, spoilers for january 20th stream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28902483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracequills/pseuds/gracequills
Summary: heliophilia:(n). love of sunlight; desire to stay in the sun.When Tommy and Tubbo finally set off to confront Dream for the last disc, Tommy's abilities, which have always ensured his freedom, are the one thing that condemns him to a life of imprisonment under Dream's thumb. Luckily, Tubbo has other plans.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Comments: 12
Kudos: 108





	heliophilia

**Author's Note:**

> dream threatening to lock tommy up and kill tubbo all at once gave me EXTREME tangled vibes. you know [the scene](https://youtu.be/pS5c3nCyGUc) i'm talking about. thus, this idea was born. i also drew inspiration from the [rebel of the sands](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/24934065-rebel-of-the-sands) series. diverges from canon in that tommy already has one disc in his possession, which doesn't render his magic completely useless in this au lmao. unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.
> 
> content warning for canon-typical violence, including fatal injuries, reference to blood/tears, and potential character death. there's also emotional manipulation (aka dream being a bitch). **(i think that's it but if there's anything you'd like me to add please lmk!)**

In the end, Tommy’s powers are his downfall.

He’s always loved the magic that tingles in his hands; the power that surges through his veins; the incantation that, when sung, can heal any injury, however fatal. It’s always been a source of pride for him, even since his childhood: Techno had his Blood God, Wilbur his sirens’ song, and Tommy his healing magic. It’s not that the magic comes from nowhere. There’s a source, like always, and all three of them treasure their magic items dearly—Techno’s wickedly sharp sword, Wilbur’s guitar, Tommy’s discs. 

It hadn't garnered him much attention from Phil, true to form—he'd always been falling over himself, trying to get his dad to notice him, with no luck—but it's _his_ nonetheless. He’s used it far too many times in the last six months; during the first L’Manberg War of Indepence, during the election, even during his exile when he felt up to using it. It always leaves him giddy, grinning as the magic fades. It’s easy to get lost in the feeling of raw power, of magic spreading out from underneath his fingertips.

But there’s always a drawback to his magic. There’s always a footnote, a catch hidden somewhere within pages of documents. And Tommy’s curse is _truth._ Every word that leaves his lips is true, or will become true; he can never tell a lie. The weight of those words falls heavy like a burden on Tommy’s shoulders. He is Atlas, holding the sky far above his friends, keeping its weight from crushing those around him. _He's too young for such a burden,_ Techno had said one day to Wilbur under his breath, before everything went to shit. Tommy's inclined to agree.

Because Dream had manipulated this particular weakness during Tommy’s exile. He’d held Tommy at swordpoint, over a pit of explosives, demanded he speak truths into existence—cementing L’Manberg’s end, Fundy’s betrayal, Techno’s favor. Tommy never wants to feel that way again. _He's_ the one with control over his own tongue, now, not Dream.

But even in this moment, as he and Tubbo stare down Dream— _Dream,_ who’d promised to give them the other disc back, who’d demanded they come all this way alone with no reinforcements—the confidence his magic gives him isn’t quite enough. They’d been blind, Tommy thinks, oh-so-blind not to see the obvious: Dream won’t give up without a fight.

If only Tommy’s second disc weren’t in Dream’s possession right now. The locket that hangs from his neck feels empty without its two discs—Mellohi sits alone, with an empty slot left for Cat. He misses the green disc with a fierceness he can't put into words. Still, Tommy can feel the magic burning underneath his skin, subdued but there all the same.

He clutches Tubbo’s hand tighter and raises his shield to block Dream’s next blow, keeping the sword away from his best friend. Tommy’s chin is kept high in sharp defiance as he stares at the man who manipulated him for days on end. _I’m like your brother,_ says Dream’s voice from a month ago, scarily calm and saccharine sweet. 

No—no, this isn’t his brother. _Dream_ isn’t his brother. Dream is a psychopath; Tommy had screamed it in the other man’s face during their fight, hoping to get some sort of reaction out of the bastard. It fell off his tongue easily, like cotton candy, something that rings true already. Dream had only laughed at the insult, eyes glittering behind his mask, and kept fighting.

But that mask is gone now—discarded somewhere on the battlefield behind them in pieces—and Dream’s sneering face is the only thing visible. Somehow, Tommy prefers the white ceramic expression, fake though it is, to the real thing. 

Dream’s always been an incredible warrior, and Tommy has known the man his entire life, long enough to know when Dream is pulling his punches. For some reason, the other man is holding back now, grinning at his pseudo-brother with sharp white teeth.

“Stop, Tommy!” he calls over the sounds of battle. Tommy doesn’t stop; he growls in anger as he leaps forward to land a few hits on the other man’s armor, throwing out a few curse words for good measure. “Stop fighting! Both of you!”

“Pussy,” Tommy challenges, ignoring the intuitive urge to obey Dream’s command. He’s not a little kid anymore, nor a scared teenager—he won’t roll over like a dog when Dream dangles a treat right in front of his nose. 

“Stop fighting,” Dream growls again. It throws him; Tommy’s definitely spent enough time with the other man to know when he’s crossed the line. There is real _anger_ in Dream’s voice now, coloring his words in vivid shades of red.

“Why?” Tubbo adds, a little less confrontational than Tommy, like he genuinely wants to know the reason. Maybe he does.

“Because you are _outmatched,”_ Dream hisses, and he throws his sword. It should be an impossible maneuver; the blade shouldn’t come anywhere close to the two of them, thrown at such an angle, but it does. It flies through the air and catches the strap of Tubbo’s armor, pinning the younger boy to the tree behind him. Tubbo gasps in surprise and struggles against the hold, but he’s well and truly stuck there.

Immediately, Tommy flees to his friend’s side and wraps his hand around the blade, trying to pull it out of the oak's trunk. It’s stuck fast with the force of Dream’s throw, pinning Tubbo to the tree as the older man stalks towards them. Fear floods Tommy’s mouth, bitter on his tongue, as Dream approaches.

“Let me,” he says in mock-politeness, grinning, and he pulls the blade from the tree. He doesn’t sheathe it; instead, he brings it down a few inches, holds the sword to Tubbo’s neck, glancing over at Tommy with a pointed look.

“Not another move,” he says, dead serious, “or I will slit his throat. Put the sword down, Tommy.”

When Tommy hesitates for just a moment, Dream presses the blade into the soft skin with just enough force to make Tubbo cry out. “Okay, okay!” Tommy says quickly, fear churning in his stomach, and he throws his axe down on the ground hastily. “Fine! Just don’t hurt him!”

Dream grins _,_ pleased, and he takes the sword away from Tubbo’s neck. The other boy falls to the ground, gasping for breath as Tommy rushes to his side. “You two,” Dream says calmly as he ignores their panic, like he’s reveling in his victory, “are going to follow me.”

So once Tubbo has his feet back underneath him, they follow Dream. He leads them through the forest with sharp intuition, but he doesn’t sheathe his sword; just keeps it close, gesturing threateningly in Tubbo’s direction whenever the two boys slow to exchange panicked words. The threat is enough to make them speed up again.

Finally, after about ten minutes of forced silence as they stumble onwards, Dream comes to a stop in the middle of a clearing. When Tommy’s eyes focus in the sunlight, he catches sight of a dip in the ground—no, a _hole—_ and all the blood leaves his face at once despite the warmth of the sun. 

“Drop all of your things,” Dream grits out, with the edge of something ugly marring his words. He nods to the hole in the ground, which is clearly newly-dug.

Tommy feels like the ground has been torn out from underneath him. He stares at Dream, blood freezing in his veins, and manages, “What?”

“You heard me,” Dream says, with a sick, sick grin. He glances at Tubbo, adds, “Come on, now. You as well, Tubbo, drop all of your stuff in there.”

Tubbo stares at Dream in confusion, even as Tommy feels his hands clench into fists. “In... the hole?” Tubbo asks, clearly unable to put two-and-two together.

But Tommy does. Tommy puts the pieces together immediately. His ears ring, flashes of memory passing in moments— _pleading, crying, explosions, a steady rhythm of “Please, Dream, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” that haunts his every waking moment_ —and he’s left straddling the line between memory and reality. 

“In the hole,” Dream says. He takes a step closer to Tubbo, grin nearly feral, and Tubbo gasps out, “Okay, fine, fine!”

Tubbo drops his armor first. He unclasps it slowly, dropping the enchanted metal into the pit before he moves to his weapons. Soon, he’s armor-less and weaponless, staring at Tommy with clear fear in his eyes. Tommy’s hands clench into fists at his sides. 

Dream’s eyes flash with sick satisfaction when he notices Tommy’s internal struggle, and he coos, “Drop it, Tommy,” voice saccharine sweet as he raises his sword. “Or I’ll kill Tubbo.”

Tubbo flinches back, which makes Tommy’s stomach do cartwheels, and not in a good way. Trembling, Tommy reaches up to unclasp his armor, fingers pulling numbly at the straps. Tubbo’s still staring at him, brow furrowed in shock. “Tommy, no—“

“Good,” Dream praises when Tommy drops his armor in the hole—first the chestplate, then the boots, then the leggings, and finally the helmet. The word does something funny to his chest. “Weapons next.”

And slowly, Tommy obliges. “Fuck you,” he spits as he drops his crossbow—no, _Wilbur’s_ crossbow, holy shit—into the pit. Tubbo looks on in horror, unprotected but still whole emotionally, if nothing else.

“No, Tommy, those are your things—“

“Just do it, Tubbo,” he grits out, reaching for his sword and the potions hidden in his pockets next. There’s only one way this ever plays out; better to take the path of least resistance, save their strength for later.

Dream laughs at that, an awful sound that turns Tommy’s stomach. “You hear that, Tubbo?” he taunts. “Tommy and I have a little… a little bonding exercise, of sorts. From when he was in exile.”

“It’s not fuckin’ bonding,” Tommy grinds out. He reaches out and grasps Tubbo’s hand, pulling the other boy behind him. Tubbo wobbles a little, but crouches behind Tommy willingly as they stare up at the man in front of them. Dream looks _hungry,_ now, like a feral cat ready to strike down its prey once and for all. Tommy can’t let Tubbo be reduced to collateral damage in their constant dance of wills. “You manipulated me!”

“Whatever you say, Tommy,” Dream says, dismissing the accusation with the lazy wave of a hand. Tommy _hates_ this—hates how Dream has always managed to make him feel small, unimportant, cowering. 

He stands there, weaponless, armorless, with nothing except the locket around his neck and hatred in his eyes. He’s lost all his pride, all his bravado, as he stares up at the man he had once considered something like a brother. Dream pulls a few sticks of TNT from out of nowhere, seemingly—he doesn't have pockets and he's not wearing a satchel—and, after lighting them with a match between his teeth, throws the explosives into the hole.

Tommy waits for the explosion, willing himself not to flinch. He does so anyway, curling into Tubbo as all their stuff, their hours of work, goes up literally in smoke.

“You bastard," he hisses at Dream, just as Tubbo says, "Why?" again in such a heartbroken voice that it makes Tommy's heart squeezes.

"Oh, just because I felt like it," Dream says, with a truly sadistic grin this time.

Tommy straightens, even though every bone in his body is telling him not to poke the beast. "Do your worst,” he dares, buoyed by the way Tubbo clings to him as he moves, their hands intertwined in fear.

“Oh, don’t worry, Tommy,” Dream says, spreading his hands in a placating way. The gesture does absolutely nothing to placate the boys. “You’re coming with me.” 

Tubbo frowns. “What?!”

“You’re coming with me,” Dream repeats in a hiss. He reaches over and grabs Tommy’s shoulder in a fluid movement after sheathing his sword. Dream’s grip is like iron on Tommy’s shoulders, nails digging into the skin, an awful memory come to life. “Somewhere that no one else will _ever_ find us.”

“Like hell I am,” Tommy spits, putting as much vitriol in his tone as he can. “I won't let you. Kill me, bitch boy."

“Oh, not you,” Dream agrees. “I could never kill you. Now, _Tubbo_ , on the other hand…”

Tommy’s eyes widen. Realization hits him like a truck—he feels as if his breath has been knocked out of him, all at once. “Dream, don’t you dare—” 

And Dream lets go of Tommy, reaches out, and stabs Tubbo in the chest.

It happens in slow motion, almost, as time comes to a halt. The moment hangs above them, interminable, waiting and watching. Tommy can only stare in horror as the other boy touches a hand to the wound, grimaces weakly, and then collapses to the grass in a flurry of unsteady limbs.

“You see?” Dream says with a wicked grin as Tubbo’s breaths come hard and fast. “Actions have consequences, Tommy.”

Tommy’s barely listening. He struggles against Dream’s grip, breathless as he spits, “Fuck you, how could you—you _monster—”_

“He will die here,” Dream says, almost nonchalant, “alone. And it’s all your fault, Tommy, why can’t you just listen for once?”

Tommy shivers. “Dream, Dream,” he says rapidly, “Listen to me. _Listen._ I’ll—I’ll come with you willingly. I won’t resist, or—or swear, or try to escape, or any of that shit.” Goosebumps run down the back of his neck as the words leave his lips. Instantly, they’re true—a promise he’ll be forced to keep. “You want me? You’ll have me. Just let me heal him.”

At their feet, Tubbo gasps out a wet, “Tommy, _no,_ you can’t—”

“Quiet,” Dream bites out, and Tubbo falls silent. Dream then turns his gaze on Tommy, hard and unyielding, without saying anything else. 

"I will _go with you,"_ Tommy repeats in a hiss, fear tasting like bitter metal on his tongue. His words slur together in a panicked stream of consciousness. "I won't fight you. Lock me up. Do whatever you fucking want to me, anything—just let me heal him. Right now."

Dream cocks his head like he's actually considering it. At their feet, Tubbo groans, clutching his chest. His hand comes away bloody, and Tommy feels like he's going to be sick.

“Dream, if he dies,” Tommy says, choking on the last word, “if he dies, I’ll never stop fighting. I’ll spend my entire _life_ fighting—shouting ‘til I’m hoarse, cursing you out, trying to escape. But if you let me heal him…” He trails off, takes a deep breath. When he speaks the next words into existence, they will weigh on him, heavy, for the rest of his life. “Then it’ll be just you and me, right? Together forever. Just like you wanted.”

“Tommy,” Tubbo manages again, “no, please, don’t do this—”

Dream holds up a hand for silence, ever the conversationalist. “Fine,” he snaps. “Don’t make me regret it.” And he throws Tommy to the ground beside his friend. Tommy lets out a soft _oof_ as he hits the dirt, immediately scrambling to Tubbo’s side as he scans his friend’s chest for the injury.

It’s _bad._ Tubbo’s tunic is already stained red, a dull rust against the white of the garment. Cursing, Tommy removes the top layers of clothing, his fingers numb and fumbling through the motions. Tubbo gasps in pain as Tommy does so, and his heart clenches as he murmurs, “It’s okay, Tubbo, you’ll be okay, shush, there you go—”

“He’s going to lock you away,” Tubbo manages between sharp gasps as Tommy attempts to soothe him. “Tommy, you can’t do this.”

Tommy grimaces, ignores Dream’s chuckle from behind them, and dutifully begins to unwind his bandana from around his neck. It takes him a while to undo the knots, fingers clumsy with fear, but finally he has it in his hands. He wraps the cloth around Tubbo’s midsection, murmuring an apology when Tubbo hisses through his teeth at the pain. This is clearly _not_ a scratch or a scrape. Tubbo is going to die if Tommy can’t get his shit together.

So he takes a deep breath and prepares himself for a lifetime at Dream’s mercy before he starts to sing softly. Tubbo leans up with the last of his strength as the magic hums underneath Tommy’s skin, responding to a familiar call.

“Tommy,” he says, eyes wet with tears, as Tommy’s words wash over him. “Tommy, I’m so sorry.”

And then, in one fluid motion that shouldn’t be possible for someone so close to death, he reaches up and snatches the locket from Tommy’s neck.

Tommy’s entire vision slants sideways as the power fizzles out of his hands, the chain snapping under the force of Tubbo’s tug. This shouldn’t be possible—the chain shouldn’t be able to break. The magic should protect him.

But it doesn’t. He gasps out, “Tubbo, no!” as he feels his powers, contained within the disc, drain out of him. His hands go cold—the healing magic sparks once, and then goes still. The necklace scatters away across the clearing, lost in the grass, as Tubbo’s hand falls limp and his eyes close.

Dream reacts almost instantly with a roar, snatching up the locket in a handful of dirt and clutching it to his chest. “No!” he hisses, shaking the now-useless necklace. Mellohi, unseated by the rough action, falls to the ground with a _thud,_ and the resulting ugly expression splits Dream’s face in two. “No! You little shit!”

Tommy stares at Tubbo’s limp form, left near unconsciousness from an injury that he can no longer heal. “No!” he chokes, clutching his friend close. “Tubbo, you bastard, you bastard, why would you do that? Why would you do that?”

“Couldn’t—let—Dream—have—you,” Tubbo manages wetly, eyes closed against the pain.

Tommy chokes out, “Tubbo—” but he’s dragged backwards suddenly by the scruff of his neck—Dream has the collar of his shirt in an iron grip as he struggles to his feet, facing the older man. “Let go of me!” he nearly screams, an infernal screech that makes Dream grimace.

“You two always have to fuck everything up, don’t you?” Dream hisses into Tommy’s ear. He grabs the boy’s chin harshly, with sharp fingers digging into his jaw. Tommy’s keenly aware of the sword in Dream’s other hand, far too close for comfort. “Lucky for you, you’ll have plenty of time to get those powers back while you’re nice and safe in Pandora’s Vault.”

And maybe it’s the thought of being locked up, at Dream’s mercy, while Tubbo lies dead, but Tommy’s stomach turns and he thinks, _I can’t._ It's a panic that bubbles up within him. _I can't I can't I can't I can't._

“You know what, Dream?” he asks, voice more than a little unsteady. “You miscalculated, you motherfucker.”

Dream frowns, caught off guard by the bold words. He’s not ready for it when Tommy kicks his shin, when the younger boy snatches the sword from his hand, when Tommy drives the sword into Dream’s chest. The other man halts for the first time since this infernal thing started, staring down at his own blade as he reaches out to touch it. Blood seeps out around the weapon, staining first his clothes and then his fingers.

“You actually did it,” he breathes out, surprised, and he reaches out to caress Tommy’s face with bloodied hands. The younger boy stiffens as Dream laughs, sounding feral, before he crumples to the floor beside Tubbo. Dream’s eyes go glassy with pain, and Death is quicker to welcome him—Tommy hadn’t meant for it to hurt. Tommy is too merciful, even now, letting Dream off with a quick and easy death rather than the long, drawn-out one the bastard deserves.

Once he’s sure Dream has stopped moving, he falls to his knees again, clutching his friend’s still body. “Tubbo, no, no, no,” he bites out, “no, you can’t—don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.” 

There’s no response. Tommy stares at his friend, limp in his arms, and lets out an inhuman sound akin to a scream. It’s all-encompassing grief—he wouldn’t be surprised if something’s torn inside him, now, at the sight of his dead friend. With cold limbs, he clutches Tubbo close as wracking sobs bubble up in his chest.

“‘S not fair,” Tommy manages, before his words are overcome with the wetness of tears. His face is wet, he realizes belatedly, sticky with blood and saline solution. He reaches up to wipe his cheeks with a torn sleeve, and a single tear falls onto Tubbo’s chest.

If Tommy were looking—if he weren’t set adrift with grief, eyes glassy in pain—if Dream weren’t bleeding out only a few feet away—maybe he’d notice. Maybe he’d see the way that the tear seeps into the fabric of Tubbo’s tunic, the spark at the contact, the hum in the air. The surge of an electrical current, magic expanding in every direction, the last drop of healing ability contained in that single tear.

But with his face buried into Tubbo’s chest like this, he notices none of it until there’s a deep gasping breath from underneath him, and he scrambles back in shock, eyes widening.

“Tubbo?!”

Because his friend is _glowing._ Honest-to-God glowing, like he's the sun or something. A golden magic not unlike Tommy’s own illuminates Tubbo’s entire body as Tommy watches in shock. There’s a warmth to it, too, and Tubbo’s chest rises and falls unsteadily as he’s lifted off the ground by some force of nature. After the third gasp of air, Tubbo’s eyes flies open, and he stares at Tommy in clear bewilderment.

Tommy throws himself at his friend roughly, hits him like a sack of potatoes. _“Tubbo,”_ he gasps out, hugging his friend so tightly that Tubbo gasps for air once more. “Tubbo, you’re alive, you're _alive,_ holy shit—”

“Tom—my, I can’t—breathe,” Tubbo manages, turning red, and Tommy loosens his hold a little bit in panic. 

“Oh, shit, sorry, man, are you okay?” He scans Tubbo’s face quickly as the other boy's breathing slowly returns to normal—or a relative normal, anyway. “No way. No fucking way. You were dead, you had to be, how is this possible? You were all glowy 'n' shit. I literally watched you die. _I watched you die, Tubbo—”_

“I’m not sure,” Tubbo says, a little bit too matter-of-fact for Tommy’s liking. He sounds rather sleepy, actually. Tubbo rubs Tommy's shoulder idly as his expression turns thoughtful. “Everything hurt a lot, I think, and it felt like I was going to sleep—and then I woke up.” He smiles, a small, surprised expression, and grins up at Tommy. “An’ then I saw you.”

Tommy belatedly realizes that he’s crying again. “You bastard,” he says thickly as he clutches at his friend’s shoulders. Tubbo sits up—even though his shirt is still stained red, the wound has been replaced with smooth skin that’s visible as his shirt falls open. “Why would you do that? Why would you break the locket?”

Tubbo frowns, confused. “Dream was going to lock you up.”

“He was always going to lock me up. He always wanted to. Why didn’t you let me _heal you,_ you jerk, I was right here—”

“Didn’t want him to hurt you again,” Tubbo says with a shrug, like they’re discussing something wholly casual, rather than his death. “‘S no big deal. I’ve done enough in my life, Tommy. I was ready to go.”

“You’d really die, just like that?” He can't help that he sounds betrayed. _And leave me?_ goes unsaid, hanging in the air between them like the humidity on a heavy August day. “But I’m nothing without you,” Tommy chokes out, and Tubbo levels him with an unusually severe look.

“You’re yourself,” he says, like the words coming from his mouth don’t mean _nothing_ and _everything_ to Tommy all at once, “and that’s enough, innit?"

"I don't know," he whispers.

"It's enough for _me,_ " Tubbo says fiercely.

Tommy can’t bring himself to argue with that, so he doesn’t. Instead, he holds his best friend close, relishing in the feel of Tubbo, here and warm and _alive._ He holds him like they’re lost at sea and Tubbo is a buoy in the raging waters, like he’s sick and Tubbo is the only cure.

And Tubbo obliges, curling into the embrace with a practiced movement. They stay there for minutes, hours—who knows—relishing in the feeling of being _alive._ Even if death still hangs over them, heavy and constant, they can have this moment together before they need to confront the reality that awaits them.

 _Dream,_ Tommy thinks viciously, _had it coming,_ and the magic in the air agrees.

**Author's Note:**

> the general premise of tommy's powers is that he has this epic healing ability due to the discs, BUT there's also a drawback/weakness to balance them out-everything he says becomes true in one way or another, aka he can't lie. _that's_ why his promise to dream carries so much weight. can you tell i got far too much into worldbuilding for a simple canon oneshot?? lmao. 
> 
> also it makes me sick that i have to put this here but this is platonic, ALL platonic, jesus fucking christ, let people have friends ffs. if i catch any of you even HINTING at shipping or sexualizing these two (they are minors!! remember this!!) in the comments i will be very angry /srs /neg
> 
> anyways. comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. feed me nom nom <33


End file.
